


Looks Like Snow

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, just cute kid things ok, sylvix as kids i.e. one of the many reasons sylvain starts to love felix, the wonders and misery of snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28274853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: As children, it's common to see Sylvain and Felix spending their days together. To their parents, it builds good relationships between future leaders. To them, it's just another day to spend with one of their closest friends.One winter day, Felix realizes that--though they play often--Sylvain never plays in the snow. And he makes it his mission to fix that.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	Looks Like Snow

There was something innately soothing about sitting in front of a blazing fire, letting it ease away the chill in the tips of one’s fingers, the ice lingering on one’s nose and cheeks. Not that there was any threat of ice in the Fraldarius manor, but Sylvain couldn’t deny the chill that lingered just outside the protection of the flame. That, though, was very much the fault of the fresh snow outside—the result of a storm that had raged for the last two days. 

Sylvain had been content to read during that time—an admittedly weird collection of magic theories and fairytales—but Felix was visibly struggling. Reading out loud had placated the younger boy temporarily, but the stress of Fraldarius’ uncovered training ground smothered in ice and snow had undone any progress from Sylvain’s attempts. 

And now that the storm had stopped, Felix’s unused energy had risen to unbearable levels. 

“Let’s go outside.” Felix whined, his cheeks pink with warmth. They’d gotten far less chubby as of late, but Sylvain wasn’t sure if that was because he was getting older, or because he was actually old enough to train with his brother now. He didn’t doubt that the Fraldarius’ intense training regimen marked the destruction of baby fat. 

Sylvain glanced out the window. The training ground beneath their window had been cleared out of snow, but no one was training in there just yet. Between the ice and the sun peeking just over the horizon, no sane man would. Not if they wanted to keep their fingers intact, anyway. Though he imagined that, as the sun rose higher in the sky and the earth warmed enough to be tolerable, Glenn—at least—would be there. 

“I _really_ don’t want to train.” Sylvain muttered, making a face. He glanced back at his friend, whose expression was falling with each passing second. “Can’t we just stay in? I almost finished this chapter, and—”

“Not to train.” Felix huffed, his expression the very definition of petulant. “To play.”

Sylvain blinked. “To play. In the snow.”

“Yeah! The snow is fresh, which means the knights haven’t trampled it yet!” Felix leaned in, their faces pushing closer and closer together as his small hands pressed Sylvain’s book to the floor. “We can make snow forts and snowmen and—” Felix blinked. “What?”

“You’re joking, right?” Sylvain winced at the harshness of his own tone, though he knew it was too late to bring it back. 

Felix stared at him blankly. His eyes began to shimmer with the threat of tears. “You don’t want to play?”

Sylvain swallowed. He was good at many things: turning learning into practice, smiling when he didn’t want to, charming his way out of trouble. And yet, no matter how much time had increased his exposure, he was still no good at dealing with Felix’s tears. 

“Can’t we just play inside?” He asked instead. “We could, um—”

“Sylvain.” There was a breathiness to Felix's voice, but not one of despair or tears. It had shifted somewhat, but he just couldn’t figure out how. 

Felix’s eyes narrowed, sharp and fierce like he had seen Glenn do a hundred times before, usually before he decimated a half dozen Fraldarius knights while training. It would be chilling to be on the receiving end of Glenn’s, but at least Felix’s big eyes and puffy cheeks diluted its power.

Still, it was like walking on a narrow ledge, where—if he didn’t mind his step—he could teeter into Felix’s rage or despair. Both would end in tears. “Y-yes?”

“We never play in the snow when you’re here.” Felix said, painfully blunt.

“Well, usually we’re busy.”

“We’re not busy now.” 

“Yeah, but . . .” Sylvain grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. He avoided contradicting Felix's likes, if he could help it. It didn’t matter how long they had been friends, or that Felix bawled if there was even a chance that Sylvain wouldn’t visit this season, or that Sylvain had officially spent more time with Felix than he did his own parents. Even with all that, Sylvain felt that there was a chance, even a tiny one, that he’d no longer be welcome if he displeased his oldest friend. 

Felix, as usual, was oblivious to the thoughts storming in Sylvain’s head. “You don’t like playing with me.”

Sylvain inhaled sharply; if he didn’t act fast, he wouldn’t beat the tears. “No it’s not—look, I just don’t like the snow.”

It seemed he was only partially successful: already, Felix’s eyes were shimmering again, lip stuck out in a pout. “What? Why?”

Oh, there were more reasons than Sylvain could rightfully name. Snow was pain in every breath, fingers too stiff to move, a white void that lingered even when he closed his eyes. It was something tolerated when he rode to Fraldarius, even as it clung to his hair and froze his eyelashes. It was something he avoided in the safety of stone halls, happy to tolerate it so long as it was outside his window. 

“Just don’t, that’s all” Sylvain tried, admittedly pathetic. “I mean, you don’t like being cold, either.”

“This is different!” 

“It’s not!”

“It is! You’d know if—” Felix jolted up straight, eyes wide. “You’ve never had a snow day.” He breathed. “You’ve been in the world _nine years_ and you’ve never had a snow day.” 

Felix spoke as if nine years was a lifetime, and not simply two years longer than he’d been on the planet. And was that _pity_ in his eyes? 

Defensiveness prickled along Sylvain’s shoulders, tightening in his throat. “It’s cold, and wet, and it doesn’t matter how covered you are, it just seeps everywhere. Besides,” he swallowed, “my father says there are better things to do than play like a fool in the snow.”

“That’s it.” Felix huffed, lips curling. He stood abruptly, fingers clenched hard into Sylvain’s sleeve to drag him up, too. “We’re having a snow day.”

  


And that was how Sylvain found himself knee deep in fresh snow, bundled in layers of shirts beneath his coat. A cloak wrapped heavily around his shoulders, blocking most of the breeze. Over that, a scarf draped loosely around his neck and shoulders. His gloves were a thick wool, far thicker than those back home. And, surprisingly, the boots he wore were just high enough to keep the snow off his pants. 

His breaths still came out in puffs, curling around him and caressing his face. He was warm, though. Warmer than he was back in the manor. Though maybe it was just his clothes. 

Or maybe—and perhaps more likely—it was from seeing Felix drag his legs through the snow, bundled up even more than Sylvain was, cheeks red as he grinned like this was the best thing in the world. 

Felix very nearly hopped to Sylvain, breaths heavy like he’d already been running around all day. Considering the fact he very nearly frolicked, it was possible. 

“So,” Felix beamed, “what do you want to do first?”

Sylvain glanced around. Aside from their footsteps deep in the snow, the view was very nearly pristine. The snow seemed to level out everything, covering the hills and grounds as far as the eyes could see. The only exception was with the trees in the distance, their branches laden so heavily with snow that it almost looked like clouds. It was a wonder that the snow hadn’t yet fallen, but he imagined it wouldn’t take more than a breath’s encouragement. 

But nothing here showed him what one _did_ out here. “Um.”

“You really don’t know, do you?” There was nothing malicious in Felix’s tone, though it stung all the same. 

“No.” Sylvain pulled a little tighter at his scarf. “ . . . sorry.”

He expected Felix to look disappointed. No, disappointed would be if Sylvain merely disliked the snow and snow activities. But Sylvain was the oldest and he was supposed to know everything. It wouldn’t surprise Sylvain, then, that this would be the final broken illusion, the last tolerated disappointment, the breaking point.

“Perfect!” Felix beamed, grin almost painfully wide. 

Sylvain blinked. “Come again?”

“Glenn always makes fun of me when I try to show him things.” Felix said, pouting, but it was brief and without much life. It couldn’t survive long against that smile. Not much could, really. “But since _you_ don’t know, you can’t make fun of me.”

“I’d never.” Sylvain mused, watching as Felix rather excitedly dropped to the floor. “Er . . . that being said . . . what are—”

“Hold on.” Felix began to scoop up snow in his hands, only to pile it up in another spot. 

Sylvain’s head tilted as he watched the pile get bigger, only for Felix to abandon the small mound for another just on the other side of him. And then he did it again, to no rhyme or reason. The piles weren’t the same shape, and they weren’t the same size, and they weren’t even in the same general location around the boy. 

When the piles had somehow connected to the lumpiest circle that Sylvain had ever seen, hardly more than a finger’s length above the ground, Felix looked up at him once more. “Do this!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to explain this one.” Sylvain frowned, arms crossed. “What’s ‘this’?”

There was the smallest wrinkle between Felix’s brows as he stared up at Sylvain. It was going to be a miracle if he ever retained that Sylvain had been serious about his ignorance. 

Felix glanced down at his work, then back up to Sylvain. “It’s the base! Of, um, a base!”

“Like a fort?” Sylvain asked.

“Exactly!”

If he squinted really hard—maybe with his eyelashes nearly laced together—Sylvain could almost see the start of something that could be used to make something significant. This, though, was a glorified lump. But telling Felix that would be a sure way to get him crying. 

Then again, Felix had never been a great teacher. Not even a half-decent one. Sylvain still felt bruises from last season when he’d asked Felix to teach him how to swordfight. But the ache hadn’t hindered their laughter and teases. _And_ Sylvain rather enjoyed the way Felix doted on him when he’d gotten a bloody nose from a pommel to the face. 

This was probably in the same category. He’d probably enjoy the snow as much as he loved sword-fighting in the training grounds (that is, not at all). But he did love being around Felix, and that nullified everything else. 

Instead, he kneeled down by the fort, trying to come up with some sense to Felix’s increasing madness of design. “So, how can I help?”

“You should build one, too.” Felix said instead, looking up at Sylvain with those pretty big eyes of his. “Right by that boulder.”

Sylvain glanced over his shoulder, looking over at the spot. The snow there was still pristine, just far enough out of the way to avoid their messy footsteps. It was situated just beneath a tree, but the small pine there hadn’t gathered snow like the other trees had. 

It wasn’t far away, but he hadn’t anticipated being forced to deal with the snow on his own.

“We aren’t . . . making one together?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic to Felix as he did his own ears. 

“Trust me.” Felix said, his pout all innocence and ignorance. Like he didn’t know Sylvain would sacrifice everything for the only person who had truly made him feel like a person. Maybe he had an inkling, but certainly not an understanding if he had any doubt in Sylvain’s trust. 

  


By the time Sylvain had something actually presentable, the sun was inching closer and closer to its apex, making the snow practically glow. It wasn’t quite hot enough to melt the frost beneath them, but Sylvain was sure that it would if it lingered for more than a few days. To an extent, Sylvain was a bit glad for the cold—if it weren’t for the breeze still in the air, he was sure he’d be sweating beneath his layers. 

Even so, there was no denying that he was satisfied with his creation. His base had been as clumsy as Felix's at first. But as he added wider walls that slowly tapered upward, it had morphed into something almost reliable. In some places, he could even lean against it without the hard-packed snow showing any sign of crumbling. 

If he were any sort of prideful, he’d say that he had a snow-Arianrhod on his hands. But he’d settle for a Gautier replica. Not that he’d ever mark it up with the Crest of Gautier like his father was so keen on doing to everything he owned. 

Felix’s, on the other hand—well, Sylvain glanced over and tried to hide his grimace. He had assumed that Felix’s had a poor start just because it took a lot of snow to get going. But he had also assumed that Felix would have a similar strategy as Sylvain—that he would add more snow to bolster it before taking on its final form. 

But Felix’s seemed to be aiming for height more than stability. The walls of his fort looked as if they were stretched from the same amount of snow as when he had started, built precariously enough that they would topple with the slightest breeze. It was a miracle that it could reach his hips when Felix stood, but Sylvain couldn’t guess on how long that would remain the case. 

“So,” Sylvain said, leaning on his wall as he watched Felix try to build the wall even higher, “what are these for, anyway?”

Felix ducked down, probably to repair a collapse on the other side.

Sylvain merely waited, fingertips tapping against the snow. Felix was making noises—little mutters that made his breaths come out in puffs of fog above the line of the fort wall. Sylvain could nearly see him move, his shadow visible through the paper-thin wall. But the kid was hunched up, curled up in a way that made it impossible to see exactly _what_ he was doing. 

After a few minutes, Sylvain had to wonder if Felix even heard him. 

“Hey,” he called, hand cupping his mouth, “you hear—”

He was cut off by the sound of mush hitting the firm fabric of his coat, ice flicking on his cheeks. And then there was Felix, laughing like he’d done something positively wicked. 

“Got you!” Felix tried to hide his smile behind his snow-flecked gloves, but it was pointless. 

His smile was contagious; Sylvain could feel it on his lips too, even as he brushed the snow away. “What was that?”

“A snowball!” Felix ducked behind his fort again, this time coming up with an armful of snow formed into lumpy little spheres. 

Well, at least a ball of snow was rather self-explanatory. “I can see that. But how—”

“Duck!” 

Sylvain obeyed without thought, dropping to his knees. The snowball whizzed over his head, another hitting his wall with a solid thunk. Sylvain leaned against his wall for safety, glancing up as another snowball nicked the top of his wall and sprayed a miniature snowstorm into his sanctuary. 

As the assault continued, Sylvain scooped up snow, pressing it into a tight ball. He tossed it in his hands, feeling the weight. If he spun it right as he threw, then—no, the only thing that would guarantee was a hard hit and a black eye. That was the sort of thing his brother would do, just to hurt and not to play. Though he figured Miklan was the sort to hide a rock inside one.

Sylvain shook his head, thinking. The theory wasn’t hard, if he made an effort. A couple handfuls of snow, enough pressure to stick them together without making them hard. Light enough where he could toss them without them crumbling in his hands. If he aimed for Felix’s chest, he’d most likely hit his face or his shoulders. And if he aimed lower and aimed hard, he could potentially make Felix’s wall crumble and smash his defenses. 

No, _that_ was something Miklan would do, too. Okay, so the fort had to stay, but the rest was fair game. He just had to wait. 

Sylvain listened to the sound of the assault. Some still flew over the wall, but many hit the wall. More hit the ground between them. Either Felix was getting careless, or he was getting tired. 

Either could be advantageous, so Sylvain dared a peek. 

He earned himself snow between the eyes for his efforts. No one in their right mind could deny the Fraldarius’ inherited aim. 

“Fight back!” Felix hollered.

Well, he only had to ask. 

  


The battle had been rather one-sided, all things considered. Even if Sylvain wasn’t naturally quick at picking things up, Felix was doomed before the battle even started. 

While Felix had the advantage of experience, he lacked any significant strategy. He was more focused on throwing snowballs than he was defending himself. His body never went behind the wall any further than his shoulders, leaving his head as the only target. His aim was good, but his timing was horrid, meaning most of his hits never landed. By the end of it, his inky hair was nearly obscured by the snow that clung to it, cheeks and nose bright red. 

Sylvain, on the other hand, had only been hit a handful of times. Not that they really had any significant impact; while Felix’s snowballs were almost painfully hard, his throws lacked malice, meaning most just crumbled on contact. A couple good shots made Sylvain’s hair drip and harden with ice, but that was the bulk of the damage. 

That was, at least, until Felix came charging at Sylvain’s fort with a holler, tackling it with all the force his skinny frame could muster. Sylvain’s walls crumbled, and Felix fell with it, landing on top of his best friend. 

“Aw, I worked hard on that.” Sylvain tried to pout, but it quickly dissolved into laughter. 

Felix merely grinned, sitting up but definitely not getting off. “I win.” 

“I’m not the one covered in snow.” Sylvain teased, brushing the snow from Felix’s face.

Felix leaned over, scooping up an armful and dumping it on Sylvain’s chest. “You are now!”

“That’s cheating!”

Felix’s smile turned wicked. “What are you going to do about it?”

With a smirk, Sylvain grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it beneath Felix’s scarf. As Felix yelped, Sylvain grabbed the hood of his cape and yanked it over the smaller boy’s head so he couldn’t easily remove the snow. 

“ _Sylvain_!” Felix whined, his fingers scrambling at the fabrics and failing incredibly. He rubbed at his neck, but there were too many layers for that to be even remotely effective. 

Sylvain laughed. “You asked for it. Literally.”

Felix froze, the flush on his face deepening. His eyebrows scrunched together, his expression shifting into what he surely thought was intimidating. The pout probably didn’t help, nor did the way his cheeks were as red as apples. 

What was _actually_ intimidating was how rapidly Felix shoved Sylvain’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Too quickly, his fingers pulled back Sylvain’s coat and scarf, the other hand filling his coat with snow. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Sylvain gasped, teeth chattering as the snow melted and glacial water slid across his skin and soaked into his shirt, “you are _on_ , Fraldarius.”

  


The battle between Gautier and Fraldarius was brutal, but short-lived. The chill made their fingers stiff, the tussle made every breath another step to exhaustion. Sylvain was too big to properly pin for a Fraldarius victory, and Felix was too skinny and quick for Gautier to hold for any extended time. Gautier’s fort had not survived the battle—it was the first victim to thrashing hands and tumbling bodies—and Fraldarius’ had fallen to the whims of time and weather (or a heavy breeze, in this case). 

The two opposing forces fell into a pile on the crumbled remains of Sylvain’s fort, all heavy breaths and panting giggles. 

“Truce?” Sylvain gasped, trying to brush his hair from his face. He was sure that he was a mess now, probably on an equal level as Felix’s destroyed ponytail and clothes utterly disheveled. Sylvain was sure that his scarf was here somewhere, but he lacked the energy to get up and find it. It was just better to endure the snow that pressed past the collar of his coat. 

Still panting, Felix pressed his forehead against Sylvain’s chest, the rest of his body still heavy on Sylvain. “Deal.” 

They lay there for a while, their breaths interrupted only by the sound of the breeze brushing through the trees. It was peaceful, even warm. But the snow never stopped being cold, and there was only so long that childish energy and exertion could keep it at bay.

Sylvain shifted a little, patting Felix’s back. “Ok, so snow forts I can get behind.” He said, tongue flicking out to brush over a lip that was starting to get chapped. “Snowballs _maybe_ , if we can team up against Ingrid and His Highness.” 

Felix glanced up, eyes brightening with the prospect. He was probably already imagining the best ways to sneak up on them, to secure an easy victory. Of course, they probably actually had snow experience, already putting their team at an advantage.

But those were thoughts for another day. “So, what else?”

Felix shifted, his sharp chin digging between Sylvain’s ribs. His gaze slid over the piles of snow around them. 

Sylvain dusted snow off the back of Felix’s shoulders. “Don’t tell me this is _it_?”

Felix shook his head. Sylvain could see his jaw clench, his teeth worry at his lip. “We could build a snowman.” 

“Like . . . a man? Out of snow?”

“Yeah.” 

Sylvain blinked. “Maybe it’s just me, but you don’t sound too thrilled.”

Felix considered, his lips pressed into a tight line. Slowly he brought himself up to his feet, dusting off his pants and coat. He offered a hand to Sylvain. “Glenn taught me once, but he used it as a training dummy.”

Sylvain took the offered hand to stand up. No wonder Felix wasn’t enthused. Glenn wasn’t a mean brother, but he was sometimes . . . overeager. No doubt he had thought it would impress Felix, only to end up with his little brother bawling. And, knowing Felix, it only had to happen once for him to never try again. 

“I have an idea.” Sylvain mused, helping dust off all the places Felix missed on his coat. “Why don’t we make one that looks like him? I doubt he’d want to crush something with his face on it.”

Felix’s eyes glimmered, his nod so enthusiastic that Sylvain almost worried he’d throw out his neck. If he did, he didn’t show it; instead, he started to pile snow together, words falling out in an excited string that Sylvain could only catch half of. 

But the theory seemed simple enough, and Sylvain could follow Felix’s actions even if he couldn’t follow his words. Just one oversized snowball on top of another, stacked until it was roughly their height (Felix wanted to make it exactly the same height as Glenn to drive the point further, but Sylvain was disinclined to carry Felix on his shoulders just to decorate the head).

The decorating part was the harder part. They’d manage to scrounge some rocks from beneath the snow, which served well enough for his eyes and smirk. The twigs around them weren’t quite the right shape for a nose, but they’d have to do, too. And the pine leaves were just too short for his hair, but there wasn’t anything else remotely close. 

“Not bad, brats.” Glenn’s voice made them both jump. If it weren’t for Sylvain’s quick thinking and his hand grasping into Felix’s cloak, Felix’s twitch would have collapsed the snowman entirely. 

Sylvain glanced over. Glenn was a surprisingly graceful man, aided by long limbs and the fact that he was almost twice their height. It was likely that grace that made his footsteps muffled in the snow, hidden beneath the sound of the breeze and rustled trees. 

Felix spun around, looking at his brother with a delighted grin on his face. “Look what we made!”

“Not bad.” Glenn said, head tilted as he brought a gloved hand to his chin. He didn’t need all of the gear that Felix and Sylvain did, instead content with a simple coat and cloak. Not that the cold would show, anyway—unlike his brother, Glenn wasn’t really one to blush or even emote, not even with the cold nipping at his skin. Even if he was freezing, no one around him would be any wiser. “A shame Ingrid isn’t here to see it.”

Felix blinked, momentarily taken off guard. It was incredibly brief before that smile turned into something sly. “Afraid she’d pick it over you?”

Teasing Glenn was a risky sport, Sylvain knew that. Even without the years he had over them, Glenn’s quick wit and sharp tongue was almost as brutal as being at the other end of his blade. He dulled it for Felix, certainly, but that tended to make Felix too bold. 

It wasn’t a bad thing, not really, but Sylvain dreaded the day when Felix would pick up his brother’s habits. Though maybe everyone would be lucky and he’d be as different from his brother as Sylvain was from Miklan. 

“Pick . . . the snowman. . .” Glenn’s eyebrow rose, arms crossing in front of him. “I don’t think she’s that vain, little brother.”

Ah, there it was. The ‘little brother.’ The one thing that would rile Felix up without question, even though Sylvain was intimately familiar with the fact that the words were as far away from insulting as physically possible. 

Yet it made Felix’s face heat up immediately, scowl sliding over the previously delighted expression. “It’s you, dummy!”

Glenn’s eyes widened slightly, gaze flicking to the snowman then back to his little brother. His lip twitched, like it took all the willpower he had to bite down on the cold comments ready on the tip of his tongue. His fingers clenched deeper into his sleeves, weight shifting from hip to hip. “That’s . . . uh. Hm.”

Sylvain pressed his lips together, trying to hide the smile on his face. If he laughed, Felix would storm off, and swear to never speak to him again. But if he said anything, Glenn would certainly eviscerate him, if only to have a target that wasn’t his favorite little brother. 

“It looks just like you!” Felix insisted, his yells laden with his ignorance. His gaze snapped to Sylvain. “Doesn’t it?”

Sylvain winced. How was it he always got dragged into the brothers’ arguments? “Well . . . now that they’re side by side—”

“Sylvain!” Felix hissed, flustered fully when his brother snorted a laugh. His glare was quickly redirected to the brother practically shaking with the effort it took to keep it together. “It _is_ you.”

“Sure, sure.” Glen coughed, but it didn’t hide his laugh. “Maybe when demonic beasts start having table manners.”

Felix shouted in rage, ducking low to scoop snow in his hands. He threw it with all the strength he could muster; but their tussle had demolished his aim and Glenn only had to take one step to the side to avoid it. 

Felix’s assault continued, each throw more a failure than the last. By the fifth snowball, Felix was hunched over, out of breath, glaring at his brother with all the anger he could muster in that little body. 

It only took one of Glenn’s snowballs straight to Felix’s forehead to immediately cool that temper. 

Glenn dusted the snow off his hands, shaking his head. “Call it what you want, then.” He said, watching Felix catch his breath. “I just came to say that you should come in soon. Don’t want you catching a cold. You’re insufferable enough as is.” 

Felix growled and opened his mouth, but Sylvain interrupted. “We’ll be in soon.” He said, offering a placating smile. It didn’t usually work on Glenn like it worked on the others, but he’d try anything at this point. 

Glenn hummed, shaking his head before turning on his heel. “Good enough.”

Sylvain watched him leave, glad that at least Glenn hadn’t resorted to destroying their misshapen creation. Not that he had really expected Glenn to do that initially, but there were certainly some aggressive ways to respond to an assault—even if it was with something so innocuous as a snowball. 

But things were always different from what Sylvain had originally expected. Glenn was by no means a perfect and kind man, but he was never cruel. There was no reason for Felix to lie awake at night, or him to worry that the doors to the Fraldarius manor would be locked. Felix could hear his brother’s words and believe them. 

It was one of the things that made Sylvain love coming here—and what made his chest ache when he had to leave. 

But that was not now, and not today. 

“So,” Sylvain mused, glancing over at his friend, “think we should head in?”

Felix merely glared at his not-Glenn snowman.

“No?” Sylvain rested his hands behind his head, his smile easy. “I think I can convince one of the maids to make us that weird hot chocolate you like.”

Felix didn’t even glance in Sylvain’s direction. Instead, he closed the distance between himself and his snowman, reaching up to pluck at the twig nose. 

“Felix?” 

Sylvain stepped closer, leaning in to look at his friend. Even if Glenn hadn’t been cruel, Felix’s eyes were still watering. He glared at his creation like its existence was a personal offence. He certainly wasn’t gentle as he grabbed at the snowman’s hair—scooping copious amounts of snowman head with each grasp. 

Sylvain chewed at the inside of his cheek. He would be damned if he let a day meant for _his_ enjoyment end in Felix’s tears.

“Forget Glenn.” He said, wrapping an arm around the snowman’s shoulders. Felix’s fingers paused, eyes narrowing in silent accusation. “Make it look like me.”

Felix glanced away with a pout. “You’ll make fun of it too.”

“Will not.” Sylvain shifted, scoping up some snow to round out the snowman’s head. “I’d have no greater honor than to be your snowman model.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

  


And so Sylvain stood there while Felix worked. It seemed a little silly, when he thought about it. Considering how bad their rendition of Glenn had been, Felix could throw supplies at the snowmen with his eyes closed and it would be as close to Sylvain as if he had actively tried. But Sylvain would tolerate it because it made the boy smile, his glances almost timid as he looked to his friend for a reference. 

While he waited, Sylvain amused himself by glancing up at the sky. He assumed it was sometime late into the afternoon; the sun had started to hide behind the clouds an hour ago. He didn’t think too much of it; the cloud itself was as light as fluffy as the snow beneath it, not dark like it had been the last time Sylvain was alone in the snow. It had definitely chilled a bit, though, though he chalked that up to donating his scarf to the snowman. 

“Done!” Felix cheered, eyes bright as he grinned a toothy smile. 

“Let’s see.” Sylvain said, stepping away from his icy companion. 

In truth, the snowman hardly looked any different than their Glenn-snowman. Felix had replaced pine leaves with twigs for Sylvain’s hair, tilting them so they stuck out in every direction. One of the stone eyes were spun around to resemble what Sylvain could only guess was a wink. More pebbles had been drawn out into a lopsided smile, which admittedly was moderately similar to its model. 

“Hey, you nailed my smile.” Sylvain said, wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders. “It looks great!”

Felix giggled, playfully jabbing his elbow into Sylvain’s ribs. “I think he looks better than you do.”

“You know, I’ll accept myself as competition. I’m a hard guy to beat.”

Felix snorted, half-heartedly trying to pull away. Sylvain kept his arm there, though, merely watching as his friend squirmed and laughed. Felix’s smile was always such a pure thing, something that could melt the ice still lingering in Sylvain’s heart. 

As they laughed and teased each other, a snowflake drifted between them, landing on Felix’s nose. Then another, on his hair. Each flake melted where it landed, but the numbers were growing fast enough that it hardly mattered. 

It was a shame this moment couldn’t last forever. 

“Come on.” Sylvain said, nudging Felix as he moved. “We should get inside.”

“Why?” Felix pouted, feet firmly planted on the ground. “It's just a flurry.”

Sylvain inhaled sharply. It had been ‘just a flurry’ in the Gautier hills. Then ‘only will be a squall, you’ll see’. Then his entire vision had been whited out by snow, impossible to find the man he knew could only be a few feet in front of him as he stumbled forward. 

But they weren’t in the hills, and they weren’t far from the manor. 

And Felix didn’t need to know.

“I don’t like watching the snow cover our hard work.” He said, the lie lame on his tongue. 

Felix’s face scrunched as he thought. “But it’s pretty.”

“What’s so ‘pretty’ about being erased?”

Felix twitched, eyes wide. Sylvain quickly realized that the words had come out far sharper than he had intended, with far more venom than he ever dealt to Felix. The boy had done nothing wrong; he didn’t deserve the ire. All he knew was that snow was a playground, albeit a cold one.

Sylvain swallowed hard. He could recover, if he was fast. “I mean—”

“I know.” Felix said, grabbing Sylvain’s hand and uncurling it from around his shoulders. But he didn’t let go—instead, he took Sylvain’s hand in both of his, looking up with a gentle smile. “You don’t know because you’ve never seen it that way.”

“I uh—”

“I’ll show you.” Felix tugged at Sylvain’s arm, but not toward the manor. “Come on!”

Sylvain grimaced, now his turn to be obstinate. He leaned back, shaking his head. “If it turns into a storm—”

“We won’t be far.” Felix assured. “We’ll be back before you know it!”

Felix tugged again, and Sylvain’s eyes flicked up toward the forest destination. 

As much as Sylvain would like to think that he was the responsible one because he was the oldest, his resistance had been minimal at best. All it took was Felix to whine his name and he was doomed. 

The only condition he could make was that they had to hold hands the whole time; he would not risk Felix getting lost. Felix had agreed without hesitation. 

  


Even though he knew it wasn’t their destination, Sylvain couldn’t deny that the forest was lovely. Their path had been a road at one time, marked only by the distinct lack of trees in a space as wide as Sylvain was tall. Small animal prints marked the otherwise pristine layer of snow, dancing along the pathway before disappearing into the brush just off the path. Ice clung to the low branches there, lining the tops like strings of pearls. The ice there remained perfect, unmarred as the branches shifted with the wind. It was not the same above them, where the tree branches were so weighed down by snow that the growing disturbance forced the ice down in heavy clumps. But even that was pretty in its own way; the snow crumbled apart as it fell, falling around the tree trunks like lace skirts. 

But when the treeline opened up away from the path, he had no doubt that _this_ was what Felix had brought him for.

The building itself was unimpressive by normal standards, probably once meant for the extended Fraldarius family for their visits. It was one floor in most places, excluding a singular broad tower that had likely been reserved for the head of the house. The entrances and windows were framed in large stone arcs, the wood within long-since rotted away. Grey stone was starting to bleach with the wear of weather and time, but it was not yet crumbling. The area around it was decorated with low stone pillars, linked together like a fence around the perimeter. There were a few stone benches between some of those poles, so meticulous in their distance that the redundancy was boring.

It was the ice that made the bland manor interesting. Snow sat on the roof in long sheets, emphasizing the varieties of gray stone by sheer contrast. Icicles draped from the roof, so long in some places that it obscured the view through some windows. Snow sat thick on the benches, looking like cushions. A light fog seemed to wrap around the place, mingling with their breaths. Unlike the forest, the trees directly around the property were shorter, their leaves as white as the snow that covered them. 

It was like a castle from a fantasy. And it was beautiful. 

Sylvain inhaled, letting the chill of the air settle in his lungs. Then, slow enough as to not disturb the moment, he looked to his friend. 

Felix seemed to be as enraptured as Sylvain was, completely oblivious to being watched. His eyes were wide as he took in the scenery, seemingly most enthralled by the long icicles and frosted windows. He walked up along the path, feet scuffing to reveal the finely carved stone beneath. His dark hair served as a contrast that made him the center of this masterpiece, his eyes bright as the most valuable jewels in Faerghus. That smile on his face embroidered itself into Sylvain’s heart. 

It was funny: for a kid so obsessed with swords, knights, and his brother, there really were moments where Felix seemed to be more than the normal Faerghus kid. He was the kid who hushed everyone when they were watching an opera, who knew most of the fairy tales and epics by heart, and who loved cats merely for their elegance and grace. He was the kid who always seemed to drag Sylvain to places like this—to things that awed him and that he wanted nothing more than for Sylvain to enjoy with him. 

But what did Sylvain offer? His loyalty, perhaps. His protection, likely. His adoration, without hesitation. Felix was the only thing in this universe that kept Sylvain’s world spinning, and he would do anything to keep it that way. 

Felix glanced over, an eyebrow raised but a grin still on his lips. “You okay, Syl—”

Wind buffeted against them, shooting through the trees like a Thoron spell and overwhelming Felix’s words. Snow followed the next gust, every brush against their skin sharp like the cut of knives. The temperature dropped, every breath stinging like needles in the lungs. 

“S-Sylvain . . .” Felix grabbed at Sylvain’s arm, fingers digging into his skin. Sylvain could feel him flinch as the wind pelted them with snow more insistently this time, his shuddering impossible to hide. His voice cracked with growing panic. “We need to get home.”

Sylvain glanced back the way they had come, trying to keep his expression level for Felix’s sake. The trees were practically swaying with the wind, thick trunks no match for the force of the growing storm. On the path, he couldn’t see more than a few trees deep, the rest lost to a white void.

He knew that, if they went in there, they wouldn’t come out. 

“Come on.” He said, grabbing Felix’s hand and dragging him toward the old manor. 

It was easy at first, but suddenly Felix dug in his heels. “I wanna go home!”

Sylvain licked his lips and swung around, the simple motion making his lower lip crack. “We need to hide out the storm, Felix.”

“But—”

“I need you to trust me. _Please_.”

Felix looked up at him, gaze wary. He was shivering constantly now, and no amount of Sylvain fixing his hood or tightening his scarf would fix that so long as they were still in the weather. It was likely the same cold, though, that made him see sense. He nodded. 

Sylvain forced a smile, taking Felix’s hand again and pulling him inside. 

  


A hundred thoughts ran through his head as he pulled them through the manor. Since the top floor had a room full of windows, it made no sense to ascend the stairs. But the problem was that most of the bottom floor was covered in open windows, too. Almost every room he looked into was left open for the elements. And, unfortunately, it wasn’t like this place had been emptied out in a rush; there were no blankets or spare clothes or even tablecloths that they could drape themselves in. 

As no room was properly satisfactory, he went to the next best thing. The dining hall had only a few windows along the length of the room, but they were all the same size as the windows in the rest of the house. With fewer windows to cover more space, and plenty of furniture to cut the wind, it only made sense that it would stay warmer longer. And the fireplace on the far end would certainly help him keep it that way. 

“Sit here.” Sylvain said, sitting his friend as far away from the windows as he could, but still in proximity to the fireplace. 

With a slow exhale, he willed flames to his fingertips, letting them singe and catch on the old wood still there. He wasn’t good enough to make something that would burn on its own—not yet, anyway—but this would do. And, if he had to, he could break a couple of the rotting chairs down for additional wood if this didn’t hold. But he really didn’t want to potentially piss off Duke Fraldarius in the process of not freezing to death. 

“You can come a little closer.” Sylvain hummed, taking his place in front of the fire and warming his fingers. “It’s no different than normal fire.”

Felix was quiet, his breaths the only thing audible over the crackle of the wood. “When’d you learn magic?”

“This is all I know.” Sylvain replied, eyeing a log that was taking rather long to catch. “Can’t cast a normal spell to save my life.”

Felix moved, finding his place against Sylvain’s side. He was still trembling, but it was far less constant than it had been outside. “Why, then?”

Sylvain swallowed. It was hard to explain that he was afraid of being stuck in the snow. That he worried he’d be left behind every time he left Gautier manor, left to somehow keep himself and his horse warm. That he thought, sometimes, he’d wake up and find himself half-buried in snow. That knowing a little fire magic was the only thing that helped him sleep at night. 

But Felix wouldn’t understand, even if he actually told him. “The maids kept forgetting to light my fireplace.” He said, pressing his cheek to Felix’s hair. “I was tired of chasing after them.”

Felix giggled. “That’s a stupid reason.”

“You know me.” Sylvain hummed, wrapping his cloak around them both. He kept his arm around Felix’s shoulders, hoping the proximity would keep them both warm. “All stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Felix said, nuzzling his face against Sylvain’s shoulder. “Whoever said that is stupid.”

Sylvain laughed, nuzzling Felix’s hair affectionately. “I agree.” 

  


Sylvain had hoped that it was a quick storm, that they only had to hide out for a little while. He had hoped the wind would stop blowing, that the snow would settle on the earth, and then they’d be able to go home. 

But he was not a kid of any luck. Instead, the storm worsened, the gusts rattling what was left of the window frames and scattering slurry across the stone floors. At first, the world outside was obscured by the density of the snow and the falling sun, but now it was like there was nothing but emptiness outside the safety of the firelight. 

It wasn’t a _good_ experience, but Sylvain was finding it a peaceful one. 

That was, at least, until he could hear Felix sniffle beside him. While that could be dismissed to the effects of the cold, the hard shaking of his shoulders and the heaving sobs couldn’t. Big tears rolled down Felix’s face, body shaking with the stress of each sob and whimper. 

“H-hey,” Sylvain whispered, using the end of Felix’s scarf to wipe away his tears. The last thing he needed was those heavy drops making his face even colder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve—I’ve—”

“Shh, deep breaths.” Sylvain ran soothing circles over Felix’s cheeks. His face was already bright red, eyes still overflowing with tears. “There’s nothing to cry about.”

Felix tried a shaky breath. Then another. But all that did was temporarily seal the dam—and it was an awful seal at that, crashing into pieces with a loud, wracking sob. “I’ve killed us!”

Sylvain froze, body unresponsive as Felix’s bawling grew louder and less controlled, echoing in their sanctuary. He cried out like the world had to hear him, like only the universe would heal his ills. 

“It was my idea to play in the snow,” Felix continued, “my idea to come out here, and now we’re gonna become icicles!”

Sylvain inhaled sharply, resting his forehead against Felix’s. “We aren’t going to die here.” He whispered, voice soft. “We’re just staying till the storm settles. A couple hours at most. Then we’ll go back.”

Felix sniffled, eyes wide and still watering, but the tears slowed. “How do you know?”

“Well,” Sylvain adjusted Felix’s hood, brushing Felix’s lingering tears away, “because we have a warm fire and plenty of fuel, I have some food we can eat for the rest of the night, and I’ll always look out for you.”

Felix put his hands on Sylvain’s, a tiny smile on his lips. “Always?”

Sylvain smiled. “Always.”

“And I’ll always look out for you too.”

Sylvain hummed, bringing their hands to the small space between them. “Promise, then?” He asked, holding up a single pinky. “Stay together till we die together?”

Felix wrapped his pinky around Sylvain’s, grinning even though the sniffles hadn’t died completely. “Promise.”

When their hands pulled away, Felix pulled at the end of his scarf, half-unwrapping it from around his neck. Before Sylvain could get out a word of protest, he found the other end wrapped around his neck, the fabric soft and warm against his skin. 

He wasn’t sure which warmed him more: Felix’s scarf, or the gentle smile on his face. 

“So,” Felix hummed, a little sheepish, “you said you had food?”

  


Between the fire, the proximity, and the shared layers, the room had become comfortable enough to ease Felix’s worries and get him to relax. Once he was properly warm, Sylvain could coax him to eat. The sweet biscuits certainly weren’t Felix’s favorite—or even in his top ten—but with a loudly rumbling stomach, he couldn’t really complain. 

While Felix ate, Sylvain entertained him with stories he had read while in Gautier. Tales of the mystic warriors, practicing arcane magic and speaking with spirits of the forest. Tales of beasts that weren’t maneaters, that instead imparted ancient wisdoms on those bold enough to visit them. Tales of knights with armor made of what the forest had to offer, acting as guardians for secrets yet untold. 

By the time he got to the tales that he knew Felix already knew by heart, his friend was fast asleep. His head sat heavy on Sylvain’s shoulder, breaths soft and eyelashes fluttering. His fingers clung to Sylvain’s cloak, curling in like it was the most precious blanket. 

It was funny. Felix could be overbearing and demanding and pig-headed, but he was also soft and sweet and caring. In the same way, the snow could be harsh and cruel and awful, but it could also be fun and beautiful and miraculous. 

And, Sylvain found, he didn’t really care how it was so long as Felix was here with him. 

  


“I can’t believe this.” The voice snapped Sylvain from his dreaming, the harsh tone agonizingly familiar. Sylvain would jump up, but Felix was still groggy and heavy against him. The boy merely wrapped his arm tighter against him, muttering for a few more minutes. 

So Sylvain had to do what he could; he turned his head. It was surprisingly relieving, seeing Glenn standing in the doorway. The man’s clothes were unkempt, like they had been worn all night or put on in a rush. His eyebrows were knitted together, lip twitching between a scowl of rage and a smile of relief. 

“The hell are you guys doing here?” Glenn asked, footsteps heavy as he walked toward them. 

Sylvain swallowed, looking up at Glenn and trying to keep his expression sweet and innocent. “T-the storm . . .”

Glenn scoffed. “I know that.” He bent down, sliding his hands beneath Felix’s knees and behind his back. He lifted him easily, shaking his head as his brother clung to his coat. 

Sylvain stood, wringing his fingers together. It was still hard to tell if they were in trouble. “Are you mad?” He asked, swallowing hard.

Glenn sighed, nodding toward the doorway. “There’s breakfast and hot drinks waiting for you at home.” 

Sylvain swallowed. “So . . .”

“You worried us.” Glenn mused. His footsteps echoed on the stone and crunched in the snow, but they weren’t as heavy as they had been. “But . . . you looked out for my brother. So I can’t be mad . . . at least not right now.”

Sylvain sighed in relief.

Glen paused, glancing down at Sylvain. “Maybe next time you two decide to get yourselves killed, you just let me know, first.” He smiled. “I don’t want to waste my whole night looking for you.”

Sylvain’s lip twitched. “Will do.”

Glen barked a laugh. “You’re supposed to say ‘it won’t happen again’.”

Sylvain hummed, his smile wide and joyous. Fat chance; he was going to drag Felix out here again the second they were let out. “No promises.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fine me on Twitter: [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming)!
> 
> And thanks, Cha, for organizing and inviting me to this event!


End file.
